


Joyful Mysteries

by Leseparatist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Mpreg, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leseparatist/pseuds/Leseparatist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-NFA AU. Faith and Illyria look for ways to make Wesley feel more cherished in their relationship. Their ideas are, of course, perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Annunciation

There were two women in his bedroom, and they were fucking. An everyday occurrence, and while his presence wasn’t required, it wasn’t unwelcome either, if he wished to join them. It wasn’t that he minded or envied them.

It was simpler than that.

They made so much bloody racket he couldn’t focus for the life of him. He banged his fist on the wall.

“I’m trying to work here,” he called out, pleadingly. They didn’t dignify him with an answer. A couple minutes later, Faith was calling out Illyria’s name, and he was no closer to finding the answers he had been expecting to find in the volume through which he was browsing; and distracted beyond hope.

*~*~*

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re PMS-ing, Wes,” Faith remarked, buttering her toast. “Or perhaps going through menopause…”

Wesley hid his face in his hands and felt like crying.

“Do not attempt to blackmail me emotionally, lowly human,” said Illyria. It was as close to a joke and a pat on the back as he would get.

“Is it that much to ask?” he repeated.

“It’s probably a stamina thing, he’s just not that young anymore, Illyria,” Faith explained patiently. “There are pills for that, Wesley. We don’t want you to feel excluded. Or you could, dunno, just watch us go at it every other time?”

“You misunderstand me on purpose, don’t you?” he replied, and left, slamming the door behind him. Faith shook her head.

“He’s so damn touchy,” she said. “Pass me the cereal, please?”

*~*~*

Illyria did not appreciate the humour of the situation. She would not have her sexual object of four years – one of them, anyway – second-guessing his priorities and daring to suggest that she “keep it down”.

“He’s probably having a complex. He can’t keep up with us, and he’s afraid we’ll substitute him,” Faith suggested, stroking Illyria’s forearm slowly. “Perhaps we should let him know that we still… you know, care about him.”

“He should be bound in eternal loyalty to me as his God and King,” proclaimed Illyria, as Faith’s fingers moved to caress her breasts. “I shall… reassure him, though,” she added in an afterthought a moment later.

Faith smiled and bent down to lick Illyria’s nipples.

*~*~*

It happened for the first time almost a year into their triangular arrangement. It was in the middle of the night, and they were in bed, all three somewhat tired from the day’s work; the sex was lazy and slow, him fucking Illyria, and Illyria caressing Faith in turn, all of them moving together in the dark.

The feeling of pressure between his buttocks was nothing new; he’d been fucked by them before, with fingers and more, Faith partly amused and partly aroused by how much he enjoyed the sensation of taking it up the ass. It took him a while to realize that their four hands were nowhere near his back, and his confusion almost turned into momentary panic, when he felt – something – warm, insinuating itself deeper, gliding inside him slowly but surely, filling him.

“What… what’s…” he asked, but then it was moving inside him with just the right speed and pressure. The question turned into a moan as it slid in and out, and he sped up himself, making Illyria gasp in response. He saw it then, out of the corner of his eye; blue and long, extending from her torso, reminding him of the first picture he had seen of her. On some level, it was pure power; her power and a shadow of her true form, fucking him. She turned her head from Faith to him.

“Now,” she commanded, and the combined sensations of him fucking her cunt and of her tentacle up his ass finally made him come. He kept moving inside her a moment longer, until she gasped and shook, her own orgasm almost simultaneous with Faith’s.

He fell asleep and didn’t ask about the tentacle until the second time.

*~*~*

He was quite certain something was afoot when Illyria and Faith specifically requested his presence in the bedroom at a specific time next week.

“I have told you that I do not suffer from an erectile dysfunction,” he told Faith. She was looking at him expectantly. “This is simply about work, which I happen to be obligated to do…”

“Eight pm. Sharp. God-King does not appreciate tardiness.”

He wasn’t sure whom she was mocking, him or Illyria, so he simply promised to be there.

She squeezed him through his jeans as she was leaving.

“I do miss handling that, you know.”

He looked at his dictionaries. They looked back at him without compassion.

*~*~*

The second time the tentacle came out to play, it wasn’t alone.

It was an early afternoon; they were staying at a hotel, taking a break from their investigation to clear their minds and, perhaps, reach new conclusions.

He was going down on Faith, who tried to stay focused enough not to break the rhythmic movement of her fingers sliding in and out of Illyria’s cunt, when he felt something touch his cock. He looked down to see a tentacle, blue and surprisingly attractive, coiling around him, and then felt another – lubricated, smooth and warm – slide between his buttocks, teasing him.

“Yes please,” he muttered straight into Faith’s pussy, but Illyria understood him well enough; he kept on licking and sucking until Faith came with a short cry of first his and then Illyria’s name. In the meantime, the tentacles moved slowly, never giving him enough touch or pressure. Only once Faith pushed his mouth away from her now tender clit did Illyria increase in speed; he held onto Faith’s hips as God-King’s touch overwhelmed his senses and made him gasp for air; she fucked him hard and fast, his cock buried in the warm embrace of her other tentacle.

He asked about the tentacles, but received no answers.

Faith, on the other hand, demanded to be ‘double-tentacle-penetrated’ the following time. He stopped counting the limbs from then on.

*~*~*

As he came into the room, the women exchanged a quick glance, and Faith nodded curtly.

That should have been a clue, but by the time it took him to think that something was wrong, there were already hands under his shirt and on his zip. Blood rushed downwards, leaving his brain with only just enough cognitive function for him to let Illyria lead him to the bed.

The three of them fell on the sheets in a heap of many limbs, some of them human-shaped, and some not at all. At first, he went on kissing and licking Faith’s breasts, while Illyria penetrated and stroked both of them; then, Illyria yanked at his arm, forcing him to lean closer, and then enter her.

His eyes flew open; Faith was caressing his back, her breasts pressed against him, while Illyria showed him how she wanted him to move; her hips rising to meet his strokes, her tentacle stroking him with growing urgency.

He felt her come twice, both inside him and around him, and he thought he heard Faith cry out quietly, but he wasn’t sure, because already he was coming too.

They fell asleep pressed close together, Illyria back to her fully human form, Faith with a smile on her face, him lying between them, for once unbothered by the thoughts of translations and demonic possessions.

*~*~*

“I think you might have been right,” he said over breakfast, pouring himself coffee. “I must be working too hard – my back is starting to hurt every once in a while.”

Faith shrugged. She was never very verbal first thing in the morning.

“Also, I’m tired all the time.”

Illyria fixed him with a steady gaze. He buttered a toast and put ham, cheese and jam on it. For some reason, the combination felt like a good thing.

He raised his mug slowly, and Faith caught his hand just as he was going to take the first sip.

“You look like you’ve put on weight since yesterday, too, Wes,” she said.

Illyria smiled.

Wesley put down the mug and ran to the toilet to empty his stomach.


	2. The Visitation

“In which universe did impregnating me seem like a reasonable idea?”

He was lying on the couch, a cold compress on his brow, his feet raised up on a couple of pillows. Illyria and Faith exchanged another one of these annoying glances.

“Well. Pregnant women get really horny, so I thought it’d be good for your libido,” said Faith.

Illyria blinked.

“Carrying my progeny is the highest possible honour. I shall accept your gratitude now.”

Wesley turned to her.

“You have my profound appreciation. That said, wouldn’t it be proper to _ask_ me?”

“He is being sarcastic. It can’t be good for our baby,” said Faith, smiling widely and inappropriately. “Don’t get snippy, Wes, we just wanted you to feel… essential. Irreplaceable!”

For the most part, he felt really hungry.

“Explain this whole thing to me,” he asked. “And please, bring me some food.”

“Healthy, organic food,” added Faith.

“You shall make your body a worthy vessel for my progeny,” agreed Illyria.

*~*~*

Wesley strongly suspected there were no newspapers with Agony Aunts willing to answer the question of “How do you ask a God-King about her opinion on Roe v. Wade?” Besides, he was fairly sure the actual reply from the God-King in question would come in block capitals, begin with “sacrilege!” and end with spine-tearing.

When a God asks you to bear its offspring, you just say “yes”.

“Just ask Blessed Virgin Mary,” agreed Faith.

Wesley choked on his caffeine and theine-free herbal tea.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he said, experimentally.

This time, it didn’t make him feel like fainting.

He thought it might be the hormones kicking in.

*~*~*

He had a number of questions. Of course, neither of the mothers had seen fit to do any research before jumping on the “impregnating Wyndham-Pryce” wagon, so he had to find the answers himself.

Question number one: how long was the pregnancy going to take?

His expanding middle on the very next day after the conception suggested that, like with many demonic and deity-related pregnancies, a usual nine-month progression was pretty much out of the question. An extensive reading suggested that the most probable time would range from two weeks up to three months.

He suspected he might manage to survive that long.

Question number two: however will he give birth to the thing?

This one he considered for a couple of seconds before firmly deciding on a caesarean, even if he were to perform it on his own person. Not one of his natural orifices seemed fitting.

Question number three: will the baby have tentacles?

He’d probably love him, her or the creature of unspecified gender anyway, so no use pondering beforehand.

Question number four seemed quite urgent, so he put down his notepad and approached Illyria directly.

“Are you quite sure the pregnancy _won’t_ kill me?”

She gave him a “how dare you question my judgement?” glare, so he decided he was quite safe from the progeny, if not from the God-King mother.

Question number five: should he eat anything unusual to support the pregnancy?

His research suggested that if so, he would experience unstoppable cravings, forcing him to ingest whatever sustenance the foetus required. That could mean a number of things, from footwear and plastic right down to livestock complete with bones, horns and cloven hooves.

That reading just made him hungry for chocolate ice-cream.

Only later did it occur to him that he never once questioned the triple genetic origin of the child. That probably said volumes about both his line of work and the relationship he was in.

He went to bed quite early, feeling surprisingly tired. Illyria joined him soon after, while Faith went out to slay a couple of vampires before sleep.

She woke him up later at night when she crawled into bed with them.

“You look even bigger than when I left,” she murmured, settling down next to him.

“Words can hurt, you know-“ he started, only to stop abruptly.

“What?” Faith whispered loudly.

“Not as much as a kick in the liver from _inside your stomach_ , though,” he finished.

*~*~*

By morning, the kicks were quite perceptible, and Illyria and Faith took turns feeling the movements inside him. He envied them – after the initial sense of wonderment, the football game going on inside him started to grate. He would have liked a couple of hours of sleep, uninterrupted by the acrobatics that somehow kept making him fearful for his intestines.

“I sincerely doubt you can feel the kicks down there, Faith,” he said, when the Slayer’s hand suddenly moved down, straight into his boxers. “If you could, my shrieks of pain would probably have already woken up the neighbourhood.”

Faith giggled.

“Is this _pregnancy_ wood?”

She took his hand and placed it under her nightshirt.

“Not really, Faith, it’s just my natural reaction to the proximity of two very beautiful women,” he replied, moving his fingers through her pubic hair slowly. “I think the real question is, is it my pregnancy that makes you wet?”

She laughed. Illyria tugged at his boxers, and he took them off obediently if with some difficulty.

“More like your natural reaction,” Faith murmured, stroking his stomach with one hand, and his cock with the other. “Come here,” she added, raising one of her legs and placing it on his hip.

His stomach made it awkward, but Faith didn’t seem to mind. She guided him inside and started moving, reminding him how incredible her muscle control was.

Illyria’s hands held and stroked his back and neck, and it didn’t take long before he came with a small cry. Faith kissed him on the lips, moved away, and stood up on the bed.

“My turn in the middle,” she said, and he moved to the side, letting her squeeze between him and Illyria.

Before long, it was him stroking Faith’s back and buttocks and kissing her nape, while Illyria and her finger-fucked each other, slowly and lazily, until they both came.

Afterwards, they brought him breakfast to bed. He was almost hoping for the three months.

*~*~*

Finding a demon ob-gyn was easier than he would have expected. A couple of calls and they had an emergency appointment for eight pm. He felt anxious all day, even though, thankfully, the kicking stopped sometime after noon.

He started eating at breakfast and didn’t exactly stop until he actually got into the car. Faith kept looking at his paunch and laughing.

On top of that, the heartburn was killing him.

He didn’t like it when they were driving. Illyria didn’t seem to grasp the concept of avoiding collisions and expected everyone to get out of her way. Faith was a good driver most of the time, but every once in a while something would distract her, and only her Slayer reflexes had saved them from a couple of close calls. Still, he didn’t really cherish the thought of trying to fit himself behind the wheel.

Faith took the keys.

“Drive safe, please,” he said, sitting in the back. “There’s a baby on board.”

Faith laughed so hard she almost fell out of the car. He kept his eyes closed all the way.

*~*~*

The obstetrician took one look at Wesley and smiled widely, baring her two rows of teeth.

“It’s really nice to see an equal opportunity deific pregnancy! How’s the impromptu uterus agreeing with you, Mr… Pryce?”

“Wyndham-Pryce, and these are the mothers, Illyria and Faith Lehane. Pleasure to meet you, and as to the uterus, you tell me.”

“If you’d just follow me to the exam room.”

Twenty minutes of indignity later, the doctor was covering his stomach with cold gel and asking after the “surrounding situation”.

“Just tell me if I’m out of line, but let me get this straight – are you the surrogate for these two ladies?”

He ground his teeth. Illyria answered.

“Both man and Slayer are my mates,” she explained. “I decided mixing our essence and seed to create new life was appropriate at this time.”

“That’s so amazing!” the doctor exclaimed, moving the ultrasound around. Wesley kept his gaze fixed on the screen. There were many limbs. One of them seemed to be waving at him.

“Tentacles it is, I guess,” he sighed.

“Tell me what you see!” demanded Faith impatiently.

“I’m counting three… no, four heartbeats,” the obstetrician pronounced, turning to face the father and mothers-to-be.

“You… didn’t mention there would be more than one.” Faith’s voice was the last thing Wesley heard before darkness closed over him.


	3. The Nativity

“Morning, prince,” Faith muttered into his ear, before pinching him painfully.

“Ouch!” Consciousness went to annoyance in three seconds, turning to arousal in the next five. Illyria’s hand was stroking him under the covers slowly; he moved closer to her, as close as his huge stomach allowed.

In the last two months, he’d been experiencing cravings, mood swings and periods of unimaginable horniness. On a bad day, he ate out the entire fridge, including a whole roast chicken and the ice cubes, before collapsing in tears and demanding someone hug him. On a good one, they spent eight hours in bed, having sex, only interrupted by his very frequent visits to the bathroom and the kitchen.

Illyria kissed him on the mouth.

Judging by his erection, he was pretty sure today would be a good day.

Faith’s hand joined Illyria’s on his cock, and he gasped; her other hand was touching his ass, and it only took a short while for him to be close.

“Please,” he whispered, as the hands sped up, and then Illyria was kissing him again, muffling his moans and then his cry as he came.

He was just trying to sneak his hand between Illyria’s legs when the contractions started.

*~*~*

They propped him up with pillows and gave him herbal tea to calm him down while they were waiting for Willow to arrive.

He had never been less calm in his life.

“I haven’t even had my morning shave yet! I’ll look criminal! She’ll decide that we’re unfit parents!”

Faith got off the phone to give him a tough look.

“These are just first contraction, Wes. You can get up, go to the bathroom and shave all you want, it can take like, two days before the labour is through.”

Wesley sniffled.

“Besides, Willow’s just coming to help with the mystical caesarean, she’s not a review board. And if she were, Illyria’d just rip her spine out and that would be it.”

Wesley took a sip of the herbal tea.

“For what it’s worth, that actually did make me feel better, thanks,” he muttered.

Illyria was in the kitchen, boiling hectolitres of water. She had been told that was an important human custom related to childbirth.

Wesley found her being unnerved strangely soothing.

“I think I will go and try to take a shower in that case,” he decided.

Faith followed him into the bathroom (despite his protests that he doubted the children would suddenly fall out of him), and sat down on the washing machine, newspaper in hand.

Wesley climbed into the shower and started washing himself. The stomach kept getting in the way.

“Faith?” he called out, right before another contraction made him gasp for air.

She helped him wash his back and legs.

He was really looking forward to seeing his feet again.

 

~*~*~

Willow arrived through a portal soon after, and after brief introductions, she went straight to hugging Faith, as though they were long-estranged sisters.

“Looking good, Will, looking good,” Faith said, finally. “How’s Kennedy treating you?”

Willow smiled happily.

“Like a lady, Faith. But I see you’re eating your cake and keeping it too! Polyamory is the new gay, huh?”

“What can I say, I’m way greedy! And besides, threesomes hardly even count.”

“And you’re not being a specist, too, good for you!”

Wesley cleared his throat and interrupted before the matter of technical, tentacle-related details pertaining to the conception was being discussed in graphic detail.

“There’s a man in labour here, in case you forgot.”

Willow flitted to his side immediately.

“Like I would ever forget. This is such a wonderful thing you’re doing here, not letting conventions dictate the way you live and love!”

Wesley bit back a comment about letting, consent and dictatorships.

“Of course, the whole former Watcher-Slayer thing is a little icky, but we’re all past that, aren’t we!”

“I’m _past_ due to get a nice little mystical caesarean,” Wesley suggested.

“Of course, of course. I’ll just get my supplies. So tell me, you weren’t getting it on when you gave her that Orpheus shit, right? ‘Cause that would be just plain twisted.”

Illyria shot him a glare.

“Most certainly not!” Wesley denied.

“He was madly of in love with the skinny one whom Illyria burnt out, and sort of mourning the mortal enemy with whom he’d had an affair,” explained Faith. “He has this dramatic tendency, you know, Buffy’d be proud.”

He couldn’t remember why he hadn’t gone with his first choice of performing the procedure himself.

*~*~*

Illyria threatened Willow with eternal torment, should any harm come to her progeny or mate. Faith said she was already planning a naming party. Wesley replied that she might save that until after they’d actually picked names.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any need to wait for labour to get more advanced,” said Willow. “Let’s just do it now.”

Wesley muttered a “Finally,” into the air, and lay down.

“You might want to take off your shirt,” suggested Willow.

Fifteen minutes of sulphuric smells later, Faith and Illyria were each cutting two umbilical cords, and Willow was practically glowing with pride as though she had been fully responsible for the miracle she was witnessing.

“You are proud parents of four very healthy, very happy, very fat and… well, blue baby daughters!” she announced.

Four tiny throats opened and started to cry.

“They’ll need to listen to their… well, daddy’s heartbeat, so you’ll have to rotate them. You should also try to feed them. Actually, if you’ve decided who is to nurse them, I know this amazing spell for multiple nipples…”

Wesley shuddered.

“They will be nursed by persons with bottles, thank you for your kind offer.”

They said their goodbyes. Four little miracles were held and carried around, and they latched onto four bottles of warm, protein-enriched baby formula.

Wesley held the palest blue one close to his chest. She had tiny fingers, huge blue eyes and chubby cheeks.

“They’re beautiful,” Faith whispered. “I mean, they look completely weird with this blue hue, and all wrinkly, but they’re also really cute.”

“My progeny’s quality satisfies me,” agreed Illyria, letting one of her daughters try to grab her finger with her tiny hands.

Faith startled.

“I completely forgot to ask Willow when you can have sex again, Wesley!”

He scowled.

“I suppose as soon as my _vagina_ heals, Faith.”

*~*~*

The first month after the babies were born passed in a whirl of feeding, washing and calming down the babies. There were four of them and only three of the parents; Wesley had never felt so strongly about finding another person – or possibly five – to join their relationship.

“We could cast love spells on unsuspecting victims,” he suggested, “or just kidnap illegal immigrants.”

They had a demon nurse come by every second day to help them, and Illyria used her temporal manipulations to help the three of them get a couple of hours of sleep every now and then. It was still unbelievably difficult; almost as difficult as organizing the naming ceremony.

Thank goodness there was enough babies to warrant eight Earth parents (they briefly considered giving each baby three of these, but decided that enough is enough), because choosing just two would have doubtlessly resulted in blood feuds. It was complicated enough agreeing on four names. Wesley felt quite bitter about the women’s reaction to his suggestions of “Antigone” and “Dolores”, his grandmothers’ names. Faith promised to refer to him as “Isolde” for the rest of his days if he even tried to argue, and then suggested “Christabel”. Even Illyria considered that one inhumane.

The babies appeared to be almost identical for the first couple of days, but soon the parents were able to tell them apart quite easily.

When Louise cried for too long, she would sometimes inadvertently open tiny portals into dimensions filled with either milk or soup. The tidying up was awful; Wesley never complained, however, since at least she hadn’t experimented with her powers while in the womb. He would have been none too pleased, had she accidentally vanished one of his kidneys.

Pia and Sophia weren’t playing with timespace continuum yet, though there was nothing to suggest they wouldn’t at some later point; for now, they were simply more interested in devouring large quantities of food as well as in lifting heavy objects with their feet.

They also tried to stake their teddy bears with their tiny rattles. Faith’s boastfulness about her genes was unbearable.

Téa was born paler than her sisters, and became even whiter with time. Her hair had a bluish tinge, but most of the time appeared to be dark brown. In a certain light, she could almost pass for a regular human; moreover, she didn’t seem to be fascinated with either weaponry or magic. She kept demanding to be carried around near the bookcases. He once let her hold a book, but she promptly slobbered all over the cover.

Being a proud father agreed with him. He was almost happy enough not to get upset over the pregnancy pounds he still couldn’t lose.


	4. Presentation at the Temple

Wesley gave up on his efforts to have any control over the proceedings as soon as the appropriate Earthparents were holding the appropriate children. Since pairing Buffy off with either Spike or Angel might have resulted in murder or possibly suicide, the two vampires were standing together, holding Louise, a child without special interest in driving wooden objects through non-wooden ones. Anya and Xander were handed Pia, who was quite whiny ever since early morning. Sophia was given to Buffy and Dawn (and they wouldn’t stop going over how pretty the blue children were, much to Wesley’s liking). Finally, Téa’s Earthparents would be Willow and Andrew.

Connor was highly offended by not being chosen; Kennedy sent them a letter of gratitude for the same reason, and Giles wasn’t coming at all due to some “urgent matters abroad”, which, according to Buffy, entailed “being a pompous ass with a midlife crisis spreading well outside the mid”.

Wesley gathered they were on non-speaking terms again.

Thankfully, Lorne didn’t lose any of his organizational skills. Choosing him for the master of the ceremony wasn’t divine inspiration, since Illyria’s interest in the practical side of the matter began and ended with her offer to open a portal to get them to wherever the proceedings would take place, but it was a great idea nonetheless. There was a sitting chart, a plan and the music was right about passable.

Lorne welcomed each of the babies in turn, complimented the “happy blue family,” lied to Wesley that he looked better than ever and hugged Spike and Angel, congratulating them on their “resolving of petty differences”.

Faith thanked him for all the work he must have put into the organization.

“I haven’t been the Host for far too long. It’s my pleasure to be able to finally make use of my natural talent – well, one of them anyway,” he added, winking at blushing Andrew.

The naming itself went almost flawlessly, apart from the moment when Louise flooded the room with milk, completely ruining Spike’s shirt and prompting him to let out a series of curses which sent Pia into a giggling fit.

Illyria gave Spike a stern look and reprimanded him not to use “improper language” in front of her daughters. Wesley decided that she was utterly beautiful when using the word “daughters”.

Sitting chart went out of the window fifteen minutes into the first course. Perhaps just as well: Buffy and Faith were speaking in raised voices already. Meanwhile, Lorne sang the babies to sleep in a far corner, under Illyria’s watchful eye, and Angel turned to face Wesley.

“Getting back into shape can be a drag,” he said, eyeing Wesley’s loose shirt, which didn’t do as much to hide his post-pregnancy stomach as he might have liked it to.

Wesley pretended to smile in response.

“Peaches here had to lose thirty pounds before Buffy’d let him anywhere near, so half of it was mystical elective surgery, if you get my drift,” Spike explained helpfully. Angel scowled.

“Well, she had you lose a couple, too.”

” _I_ didn’t need a tummy-tuck afterwards.”

Thankfully, Lorne was signalling something from where he was standing over the cribs.

“Excuse me, I think I’ll go check up on the babies.” Wesley rose, leaving his steak halfway uneaten.

Faith apparently had had the very same idea; she was holding Téa up and examining her critically.

“I hate changing nappies,” she sighed.

“You and me both,” Wesley agreed. Faith got cracking.

“I’m under the impression Buffy is engaged in a sexual triangle with Angel and Spike,” he confessed.

“She’s always had a complex, Wes,” Faith replied, drying Téa’s bottom with a wipe. “Like two vampires could ever equal me getting it on with a female God-King… and a very masculine you.”

That earned her a smile. Wesley leaned down and picked Louise up.

“This one too, huh. Too bad she doesn’t open portals that would take out her poo.”

Wesley shrugged. Faith picked the now clean and dressed Téa back up and gave him a peck on the cheek while passing him on her way back to the table.

“Do get that mystic’s number from Angel, though. Nothing wrong with looking your best.”

*~*~*

“So what’s Giles really up to?”

Three hours later, Faith was well into being inebriated, Wesley was starting to feel somewhat relaxed, and younger Slayers were taking turns feeding the blue children from bottles under Illyria’s watchful eye. It was a great party.

“He announced retirement some six months ago,” Buffy replied with evident distaste. “And he brags about his newfound sexual life – not to me, but word gets round – and about young women and men. Except of course that’s pretty much his fantasy, and reality is, he is living with Ethan, and they go out for drinks, hit on people, get rejected, go back to the flat and, you know.”

Spike smiled and finished it for Buffy.

“They get stoned and fuck like teenagers. It’s really heart-warming, guys their age, still so much in lust.”

Faith turned a little bit green.

“I’m going to throw up,” she said.

Buffy patted her on the back.

“At least you didn’t see the surveillance.”

Xander and Anya had snuck out almost an hour prior. Thanks to Willow’s magic, while the corner with the babies remained quiet, the music in the room was loud, letting so-inclined guests dance. Buffy forced both vampires to join her on the floor, to Wesley’s utter amusement; Angel attempted to fake enjoyment, while Spike rocked back and forth while trying to grab either Buffy’s or Angel’s ass.

Lorne was making out with Andrew in one of the darker corners.

“So, which one will Buffy have impregnated?” Faith asked, elbowing Wesley. He startled.

“What?!”

“She’s a born copycat. She won’t suffer it for me to have spawned and for her to be childless. I bet she has Willow researching it as we speak.”

Wesley put his money on Angel, as the one with lesser drinking problem.

Connor’s scowl showed exactly what he thought about siblings. That just got Faith going.

“Cheer up, kiddo, I bet one of the young Slayers here would gladly knock you up given half a chance.”

By the time they left, two hour later, Spike and Angel were slow-dancing, embraced, while Faith had managed to get Buffy drunk enough to elaborate her opinions on the vampires’ technique in the bedroom, much to Wesley’s horror. He bid quick good-byes to Lorne, whom he had to almost pry away from Andrew, hugged Willow, shook Kennedy’s hand and suffered through Buffy’s lengthy speech about how he were now responsible for young lives, speaking of which, where was Dawn.

Spike offered him surprisingly honest commiserations on the account of being surrounded by oceans of estrogens and offered a safe haven in case he wanted to watch telly while drinking beer. Wesley found it quite amusing, considering Spike’s ultra-masculine taste in television programming.

Angel hugged him and professed how happy he was to know that Wesley had found love, acceptance and home, before giving him the mystical surgeon’s card with a, “Seriously, give the guy a call.”

Wesley called first to the shower. Illyria demanded that someone prepare a bath for her.

“Our relationship is so much healthier than theirs,” Faith pronounced happily, before running to the bathroom to cheat on the shower queue.

“We’re going to need a three-bathroom house soon, aren’t we,” Wesley sighed, putting Louise to bed. Louise giggled and levitated his glasses into her tiny grip in response.


	5. Finding of the Children at the Temple

He woke up at eight sharp. The house was quiet apart from two breaths besides his own: that unnerved him.

They were never all still asleep at eight.

He stepped down from the bed and tip-toed out of the room, closing the door behind himself quietly. Illyria’s blue hair was strewn across the pillows next to Faith’s shorter dark brown; he smiled at the sight of them sleeping so peacefully.

His daughters’ rooms were empty. He felt panic shoot through him momentarily, before he remembered.

Sleepover. They were all away.

He’d been reluctant to let them all spend the night at Slayer Headquarters, but the quadruplets – especially Sophia and Pia – had been relentless, and when Faith took their side, and Illyria expressed her disappointment with Wesley’s smothering parenting technique, he stopped painting doom and gloom scenarios and let the children go.

They were six, looked about twelve and, between three parents, were spoilt to the very bone, if not the marrow that bone contained.

He took the time to walk around Pia’s room slowly. The walls were adorned with assorted weaponry and pictures of Pia and Sophia playing “Slayers and Vamps” with uncle Spike. Ever since they accidentally staked him through the liver, luckily missing the heart by a large margin, they were only allowed to do that with plastic weaponry. Buffy threatened bodily harm should either love of her life be dusted, and if she ever slapped one of their daughters, Illyria just might remember about brimstone and fire being customary signs of God’s wrath in this particular region.

The ringing phone stopped his reverie, sending him running to pick up before it woke up one cranky Slayer and one offended God-King.

He picked up on the third signal.

“Wyndham-Pryce speaking, who is this?” he coughed out.

“Hi daddy.”

“Hello darling.”

Téa’s voice sounded a little sleepy; her and Louise liked to lie in most days, unlike Sophia, who would gladly wake everyone up at the crack of dawn.

“Louise said she sensed your anxiety at our geographical displacement.”

Téa was a bookworm to put Wesley to shame. He was bursting with pride.

“I woke up and got a little bit upset before I remembered where you are.”

“Mums are asleep?”

“Yeah.”

There was noise in the background; he was almost sure he could hear Andrew’s shrieks.

“Are you girls all being good?” he asked, without any actual hope to hear the affirmative.

“Louise is playing at human sacrifice again,” Téa admitted, uncertainly, “but she’s really careful not to draw blood this time.”

“That’s something.”

“Soph and Pia went hunting for demons with a whole squad, but aunt Dawn says there are no scary demons in the area and it’s just going to be some running and maybe they’ll see a deer in the forest.”

“And how are you doing?”

“Uncle Andrew showed me some cool books before Louise requested that he lay down his life for her eternal glory.”

“So you are having fun? We don’t need to come and pick you up early?”

She giggled.

“Mums are right, you’re overprotective and clingy. You’ll tell them I said hi?”

“I will.”

The bed was warm and welcoming, and they had the house to themselves for the first time in a very, very long time. He fell asleep the moment he crawled back under the covers.

*~*~*

His second awakening that day was more pleasant.

Faith’s smell surrounded him; her hair tickled his nose and he sneezed, making her chuckle.

“Morning,” he muttered to her smiling face, as she came closer to him.

“Morning yourself,” she whispered right into his ear.

He kissed her, first tentatively, then more decisively, her tongue and lips almost as familiar to him as his own; she responded by running her hands up and down his arms, pressing herself closer, then raising a hand to stroke his cheek. She moved her head back to look at him.

“Ex-con stubble,” she said, and he smiled before tilting his head to kiss her palm.

Illyria was waking up; Faith turned to her other side to greet her properly, trailing small kisses down the side of her jaw, while her hand moved to stroke Illyria’s breasts under the covers.

Illyria’s greeting was halfway between a moan and a “hello”.

Wesley tried to embrace Faith from the behind, his hands stroking her breasts from the sides, but Faith turned back to face him, her expression of decisiveness somewhat disturbed by the yawn that interrupted her.

“Fuck me like this,” she said, spreading her legs wider.

Moving together felt as natural as breathing, but there was never anything natural about the sensation of Illyria’s true form, moving together with them, penetrating both of them from the behind, heightening every sensation. She entered and surrounded them, her tentacles stroking their sides and backs, thrusting, gliding and embracing.

“Oh… yes…” Faith moaned, and he stifled the impulse to worry about the noise, and its potential to lead to another embarrassing conversation about human sexuality and origins of pregnancies (usually, _and_ in their specific case).

All three came seconds apart, and remained embraced for a while before Illyria reverted to human shape, and Faith kicked him out of bed, demanding that breakfast be brought to her, pronto.

Home alone or not, he got dressed right down to socks and a good shirt before he busied himself with tea and scones. By the time he got back, they were going at it again, Illyria on top of Faith, their fingers deep in each others cunt. This time he did feel ever the tiniest bit old, but it didn’t really bother him as much as he would have expected.

*~*~*

That day was marked by four more phone calls from the headquarters; the first one came from Buffy, whose serious voice almost gave him a heart attack before she explained that the reason behind her calling was not that one – or all – of the children participated in some homicidal plan against one of her spouses (he’d explained the idea of the redemptive power of souls to them a thousand times, and they remembered about rubber stakes, but you never knew when uncle Angel would switch these for real wood in a jealous or simply depressed fit): she was just apologizing in advance for any bad influence uncle Spike was exerting over his children. The second one was from Angel, asking permission to keep the girls up past their bedtime to go out to the cinema with them; Wesley was enthusiastic about any and all children-appropriate activities that would result in the girls coming home as exhausted as possible, and neither Illyria nor Faith were fans of sheltered upbringing. The third call was Louise, requesting to be allowed to banish her sisters into oblivion for spilling juice on her holy iPod. Faith promised her that justice would be meted out at home, and warned that banishing would be most severely punished.

“That’s so unfair,” Louise complained. “It’s almost as bad as when you said I can’t alter time when we play tag.”

That last law had been instituted once Sophia and Pia flat-out refused to play anymore, and Téa drafted a letter, explaining in detail how “manipulations of dimensional nature” simply “rendered the playground uneven to the point of making the game nonsensical”.

During dinner - which was, up until a point, a quiet and organized affair, Faith’s talking excluded – Illyria disappeared for a couple of minutes, mid-bite; upon return, she said that she grew uneasy about her ignorance of their progeny’s current state.

“You checked on them,” Faith repeated, adoringly.

“They are all most satisfied with spending time with the vampires and Slayers. They don’t seem to require our assistance at all at this moment.”

“They’ll miss us by tomorrow,” Wesley assured her.

The fourth phone call came late in the evening, when Pia requested that mummies and daddy talk to them before bed. In the end, they took a portal and tucked the girls in; their daughters were kind enough to pretend that it’s for their sake and not the parents’.

They stayed the night at the castle, too, and returned home together, all seven of them. The girls’ goodbyes to the vampire uncles took a long while, and Louise looked a little violet, as though she was blushing under the blue.

“It’s probably too much to hope they’ll all turn out to be lesbians,” Wesley whispered to Faith, who nodded her head in agreement.

“I think adolescent boys loom in the near future,” she agreed, sadly.

Later, they would explain to Illyria about the not killing of little male buggers over her daughters’ potential heartbreaks, and there would be dinner to be had and laundry to be done, but for now, they stepped through the portal to go back home, Illyria leading the way, four blue girls following her, Wesley and Faith guarding the rear.


End file.
